


Needs Must

by Crysania



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>repeatingitanies prompted: Belle was born with an unusual condition. She is unable to survive without wearing the current month’s birthstone on her person. But with a series of unfortunate events that left Belle with an ailing father and a huge amount of debt, she is forced to sell most of the stones in her possession. She has no diamonds left. And with April fast approaching, Belle is forced to marry the wealthy Mr Gold mainly to ensure that her father will be well taken care of. But with having kept her condition a secret, Belle finds it hard to connect with her husband, who thinks she married him due to her fascination with jewelry. [As always, I made a few little alterations to have it fit my story!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Must

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Minor character death

The day her father falls ill is the day everything changes. He’s never made a lot of money at the flower shop and so the health insurance he could obtain was piddling at best. It covered the time he got a sinus infection and needed antibiotics. It covered the stitches from the time he broke a window and stupidly grabbed the glass as it fell. But it won’t cover this. _Cancer_. The “big C.” He had been a smoker for most of his life, though Belle had gotten him to quit some time ago. It didn’t matter though. Such things stalk you anyway. Quitting was always heralded as a way to prevent it. Belle knows better now.

It starts with a small cough and by the time he goes to the doctor, it’s too late. It requires surgery, radiation, chemotherapy. They tell her it’s in Stage IIIa and she doesn’t know what that means, but she knows it’s not _good_. It’s close far too close to Stage IV and she knows that’s a near death sentence. 5% survival rate.

Without medical intervention it’s near zero.

She has little money, really. She’s been working at the library and helping out at the flower shop and saving a little for a vacation. Paris, she thinks. Someday. But now that savings account has been drained, every bit used to cover the expensive procedures for her father. The insurance covers some. The hospital stays, the surgery, but there are co-pays and medication that it won’t cover and he can’t run the flower shop in his condition, so sales are down.

The one thing she knows she can’t sell are the rings.

It’s a strange sort of magic. She’s not sure where it came from, how it came to pass. Her father calls it a blessing, though she’s not sure how it could be such. She calls it a curse and he gives her sad looks. He says it’s the fairies and Belle doesn’t know what to think of that. Sometimes her father lives in a different world, where her mother was a fairy who died giving birth to her. Because fairies cannot birth humans. She doesn’t like to tell him the truth. Her mother had simply been too ill to carry her to term properly and the doctors made mistakes. Her death should not have happened. He should not have been left alone to raise an infant on his own. He was a good father, but he lived in his head far too much. Belle had grown up half in the clouds and half living in the practical world of reality that her father too often avoided.

Without her, the flower shop would have gone under long ago. And her father would have stopped living in the real world when that happened. She grounded him. She kept him going. She was a good daughter, the best, and her father often told her such. He does now, especially, as the illness takes him down from the inside out.

She has a set of the rings, one for each month of the year. Garnet for January, Amethyst for February, Aquamarine for March. She must wear the birthstone that matches the month or a great tragedy will befall her. Her father says death. The one time she changed the ring late, she had felt strange, an odd sort of fading of the world around her. She didn’t know what it would lead to, but she had never _ever_ taken a chance again. At midnight on the first day of every month, the ring was changed for the next month’s and then set carefully inside the box with the others. She had them as long as she could remember, the rings changing size as she grew to adulthood. Now in her late 20’s the rings stayed the same year after year. They never needed polishing as her other jewelry did. They never felt annoying on her fingers, even when pruning flowers or sleeping, as her other jewelry did. They were as much a part of her as her eyes and hair. They breathed _life_ into her and she sometimes wondered if they were tied into her mother’s death.

She never asked.

She was too scared to know the answer.

If she lived because of magic, while her mother died…well, it was simply too much to bear.

Her father falls ill in April and by the middle of September, Belle’s savings are depleted. She has a little bit coming in from her work at the flower shop and her job at the library, but it’s not enough to cover the co-pays anymore. Her father tells her to let him go. He can come home. He can die in peace there, surrounded by the daughter he loves and the flowers that have been his livelihood.

She refuses.

Her father is all she has in this world. Oh, there are friends and she loves them dearly, but none mean so much to her as her father. And during this hard time, they have been strangely absent. She struggles through, friends occasionally stopping by the library and asking in stuttering voices how she’s faring. None really want to hear the truth.

She’s falling apart inside.

Her father is not getting better. The radiation and chemo beats it back a little bit, but with surgery they find out it has spread more than they thought. The lymph nodes are affected. More radiation, more chemo.

More money she doesn’t have.

When October comes around, she finds herself standing in Mr. Gold’s shop, holding September’s ring. It’s a sapphire with a white gold band. It’s not worth terribly much, she knows this. But every little bit counts. If she even gets a hundred dollars for it, that’s five co-pays she can afford. That’s more medication for her father, more help.

Her father doesn’t know what she’s doing. He can’t…ever.

“What can I do for you, dearie?” Mr. Gold’s voice, which she normally finds pleasant in a strange sort of way, makes her jump with nervousness. She’s not scared of him. Not like the rest of the town. But she’s never come to him looking to sell anything she owns. She feels run down and haggard and when her eyes meet his, she finds a strange sort of compassion lurking in the depths.

“I…I need to sell this.” She holds the ring up, breathes a little bit easier when his eyes leave hers to settle on the ring held too tightly in her small hand. “It’s not much…I know…”

He looks back up at her and she feels skewered by his gaze. “How is your father faring?” His voice is soft and she’s surprised he even knows about her father, even more surprised that he would have the compassion to ask after him when even her own friends seem to skirt the issue.

“He’s not well.” She can’t say more than that. If she does, she’ll break down in his shop and she’s sure Mr. Gold doesn’t know how to deal with a weeping mess of a girl.

He nods and plucks the ring out of her hand, his fingers touching hers for just a moment. They’re warm, dry. She finds she likes the contact far more than she would have guessed. She’s been in before. She’s spoken to Mr. Gold before, but he’s always kept his distance.

“I need to sell it,” she says, a sheepish look on her face. “The co-pays…”

“Five hundred dollars.”

Belle starts at his words. “What?”

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars for it.” The words come quickly from his mouth and he won’t quite meet her eyes. She knows the ring is hardly worth that much.

“Why?” Mr. Gold is not known for doing anyone any favors. He’s not known for being a nice man. He’s known for cutting deals with people in town that benefit him while leaving them somewhat lost. He can’t know how much this ring means to _her_. If she doesn’t wear it next September, she dies. It’s as simple as that.

She hopes to buy it back before then.

“Do you see this mark, Miss French?” He holds the ring out toward her and she leans in to look at it, her face very near his. As she looks up to meet his eyes, she jumps back slightly.

“I see no mark.”

“Well, never you mind. It’s there. This is a very rare type of sapphire and so worth much more than you might expect.” She knows he’s lying. She wants to call him out on it. But she _needs_ the money. Five hundred dollars would cover a number of co-pays. It might even allow her to buy something other than peanut butter sandwiches and ramen noodles.

She takes the money from him and leaves the ring there. “Please…can you let me know if you need to sell it?”

He nods and tucks it into an inside pocket of his suit jacket. And then she leaves, cash in hand. Her father is suspicious of the extra money she suddenly has, but relieved. He says no more about it.

It gets them further than she planned, but not far enough. Soon enough, she is returning to Mr. Gold’s shop over and over. Three hundred for August’s Peridot, eight hundred for July’s Ruby. Another rare one, he says, and compliments her on her taste in jewelry. Each one that goes into his pocket leaves her feeling more and more anxious.

He never calls to tell her he is selling one.

She is trading her life for her father’s and he still is not improving. The money keeps adding up and the flower shop is failing. Belle cannot find it within herself to spend the time she needs on upkeep. The flowers are looking sad, the plants are not being properly pruned. It’s all she can do to keep up appearances, struggle through at the library, see her father at the hospital.

He’s there more often these days.

By the end of January she is forced to sell April’s diamond ring. It’s a beautiful piece and she knows this one is actually worth some money. But she’s put it off. April is only a few scant months away and her time is getting cut short. He offers her three thousand for the ring and she takes it.

In mid-February her father goes into the hospital and they tell her it may not be long. There is fluid building up around his lungs, something they call radiation pneumonitis. It’s rare, but a side-effect of the radiation therapy. It seems her father’s lungs were too fragile to withstand the radiation. If only they could go back, start over…

She is exhausted all the time. The flower shop is now closed. Belle spends every moment she is not working at the hospital. She gives back a thousand of the money she got from April’s ring to Mr. Gold, her last payment on the flower shop. She’ll sell it soon. Her father won’t be returning to work. She knows this with every fiber of her being, deny it though she tries to.

By the first of March, her father is in a near-coma. He’s breathing, but barely. The doctors give it a matter of days, not weeks. She stays at the hospital, sleeping in a chair at her father’s side. He barely moves, the sound of his ragged breathing and the oxygen tank aiding him the only sounds in the room.

It’s late one night a few days later that she is awakened by the sound of his voice, weak, thready, but certainly the voice she has loved all these years. She moves to the chair at his side and takes his hand. He is unable to grip her hand back, too weak from the drugs in his system.

“My Belle,” he whispers and she feels the tears start in her eyes. She blinks them back rapidly. She does not want him to see her cry. “I love you.” His eyes drift shut. He takes one last soft breath and then is gone.

The nurses rush in as the machine flat-lines. Belle is pushed aside. He has asked not to be revived. The end has come. She has said her goodbye and so leaves as they requested. She’ll await final word in one of the waiting rooms and when they finally come with their sad eyes and soft voices, she doesn’t cry. She’ll save that for later, for home, for safety.

The funeral is a quiet affair. Her father had few friends and those who show up don’t quite know what to say. They offer condolences with eyes shifted away from her and a slight pat to the back and then they’re gone. Belle’s friends are equally quiet and uncertain. She didn’t mean to cut them off in the past months, but she was always so exhausted. Worries about her father, about losing him, watching him go through the pain and anguish, the money worries, and the very real worry that if she gets to April without having that diamond ring back, she will soon be joining her father.

She goes to Mr. Gold a few days after the funeral. She sees him lurking about at the ceremony, but he never approaches and he melts away into the small crowd when she goes to look for him. Sometimes she isn’t sure if he was really there or not, if she had somehow dreamed him up. She doesn’t know why she would do such a thing but he keeps crossing her mind.

He’s been paying her much more for the rings than they’re worth, always with some quip about how rare they are, how she has exquisite taste. She’s never seen them on display in his shop. She hopes that means they have not been sold. She doesn’t know if he has an online business. She’s never been into computers much and so she hopes that he didn’t sell them to some out of town buyer. She’ll never get them back if he did. And she _has_ to get them back.

She wishes in that moment that she knew how the rings worked. Her father had never told her if she could wear other rings with the stones in them or just _those_ rings, but she doesn’t want to take the risk. She knows her life may be close to over, but she has to try.

She steps into Mr. Gold’s shop and finds him lurking behind the counter as he so often is. When he sees her, he reaches over, grabs his cane and comes out to greet her. “Miss French.” The words are softly spoken. He rarely speaks loudly, his voice often just barely above a whisper. Today he sounds less certain than usual. “I was sorry to hear the news.” And he sounds genuine. She’s been told he doesn’t have a heart. In the past months, she’s fairly certain he does have one that he keeps buried under the tight control of sarcasm and anger that he presents to the world.

She can understand the latter. She’s felt angrier than ever during the months of her father’s illness. _Why him?_ He was a good man. He didn’t deserve it and watching him suffer was the hardest thing she’s ever gone through in her life.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t even know where to begin really. She needs April’s ring back. She needs it back _desperately_. But she has little money left after everything that has happened. She might be able to make back enough to buy it in a month or two, but by then it will be too late.

“Can I help you with something?” She can’t help but notice his voice sounds almost concerned.

“I need the diamond ring back.” She is unable to meet his eyes as she speaks. She knows what’s coming next.

“I still have it.” He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls it out and she’s surprised it’s still there after all this time. Has he been hanging onto it there for some reason? Her brow furrows. “But it’s going to cost you. I seem to recall giving you a few thousand for it…” His voice trails off and she takes a deep breath.

“Yes. I know. I don’t have the money.”

“Well, then…” He starts to tuck the ring back into his jacket and turn away. Without thinking about it, Belle reaches up a hand and puts it over his. She’s never noticed before how large his hands are. He’s not a big man, not much taller than herself, but her hand looks absolutely tiny placed atop his.

He freezes in place and watches her. His eyes have turned wary, haunted. She doesn’t think anyone touches Mr. Gold and she suddenly wonders how long it’s been since anyone expressed any kindness toward him. She knows his reputation. She knows the town avoids him unless they need something from the shop. He’s a pariah and she suddenly doesn’t know why. He’s prickly, a bit aloof, but he has never been anything but kind to her.

“Please…I _need_ it.” She removes her hand from his to fuss with her sweater.

“It _is_ a lovely piece of jewelry, Miss French. But I doubt you _need_ a diamond ring.” He raises one eyebrow.

“I do though. You wouldn’t understand. But I need it back. I’ll do anything...” She feels frantic, the anxiety rushing up and making her stomach tighten.

“Anything?” And his voice is practically a purr. She puts a hand over her stomach to try to settle it and nods. “I see.” There’s a look in his eyes, calculating, yet strangely warm. She feels a small shiver make its way down her back.

“Yes.” She’s not sure she wants to utter the word, but her _life_ is on the line. She has less than three weeks to get that ring back from him. And then she has a month to figure out how to retrieve the next one.

“Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you, Miss French.” His voice is silky and smooth. It leaves her feeling unnerved. She’s heard about his deals. So far the ones she’s made with him are simple exchanges, a ring for money. This sounds much more ominous.

But she knows she has no choice. She nods hesitantly and is surprised to see him take another step toward her. He’s very close now, close enough that she can see the lighter gold flecks in his eyes. She wants to take a step back, out of his reach, but she reminds herself she’s not afraid of him.

“You can have your ring back _right now_ …” And he pauses there, leans closer. She’s not sure she wants to hear this part of the deal. Because she knows she has to agree to it if she wants to live. “If you’ll marry me.”

She almost chokes. Did she hear him right? “What?” Surely she heard him wrong. Marry him? That can’t be right.

“That’s the deal, Miss French.” He pulls the ring out and holds it in front of her. “I’d get down on one knee, but, well…” And he briefly lifts the cane.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“Why?” She’s never really imagined herself married to anyone. She’s not the kind of girl who spent her teenage years fantasizing about dresses and wedding days. She reads. She reads a lot and even then her interests don’t often tend toward romance.

She hasn’t had time for romance, despite her father’s trying to find someone to date her. She had been so annoyed at him during that time, but now looks back on those moments with fondness.

“Miss French,” he begins and she’s not sure she wants to hear the rest of what he has to say. He shakes his head slightly, whatever he’s about to say either forgotten or avoided. “Let’s just say…my reasons are my own.”

She gives an indelicate snort. “Well, if that isn’t the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ve heard many then?”

She finds herself smiling at the words. He’s witty, a bit sarcastic. And wealthy. And Belle is not one to fool herself into thinking something like that isn’t important. She can get back the rings that she’s lost and moreover, she can maybe keep her father’s shop open, hire people to take it over. She can be their boss in absentee.

“No…no proposals.” She gives him a rather self-deprecating smile and then, finally, nods. “Ok then.”

“Well, if that isn’t the worst acceptance of a proposal I’ve ever heard…”

“You’ve heard many then?” She bites her lip as she realizes the somewhat flirtatious bent the conversation has taken. Did she really just agree to marry Mr. Gold, town monster? The strange smile on his face says that she has indeed.

He opens the box and Belle breathes a little easier when the diamond ring appears. She wonders for a moment why he has kept it tucked away on his person all this time. He’s a strange man, mysterious, and there’s nothing Belle loves more than a bit of mystery to unravel. He reaches out and grasps her hand in his and she tries to ignore the strange fluttering feeling in her stomach. “May I?” he asks, holding the ring up.

As he’s about to remove the ring she’s currently wearing, she pulls her hand away, closing over his and the ring. “April,” she murmurs. “I will wear it on the first of April.”

She slides away from him. He releases her and allows her to back away. But he won’t let her go far. “Miss French.”

“Belle.” If she’s going to marry him, he ought to call her by her name. She starts to turn away when she feels his hand come down on her shoulder, the fingers teasing the hair at the nape of her neck He steps forward until there’s little space between him.

Leaning forward he presses a soft kiss to her lips and Belle is surprised at how much she likes the feel of his lips, firm but gentle, against hers. It’s been a long time since she’s been kissed and the last time didn’t leave her feeling tied up in knots like this. She reaches a hand up to tangle in his shaggy hair, but he’s already pulling away and stepping back.

“You’ll come by tomorrow?” She knows it’s a question but it feels more like a command. “We have much to discuss.”

She nods and then without another word, departs.

Before the kiss she was sure this was meant to be some platonic thing, maybe about appearances, maybe companionship. She had always had a sense that Mr. Gold was lonely, holed up in his house all by himself as he was. Now she wonders if there wasn’t some other reason for this sudden proposal.

There is much to think on.

* * *

The wedding is small. She somehow convinces Ruby and Granny to come as witnesses. Granny gives her dark looks through the entire ceremony. Ruby cries. She knows it has nothing to do with her being happy for her.

Belle isn’t even sure how she feels about it. She’s agreed, she’s going through with it. But the past few weeks haven’t helped her figure out what’s going through his head.

He’s enigmatic, a mystery she can’t quite figure out. He won’t tell her why he wants to go through with this marriage, why he asked in the first place. She wears April’s ring and he calls it an engagement present.

She’ll have to ask for May’s ring soon.

When the ceremony is over, he whisks her away from the courthouse and back to his house… _their_ house. He makes sure she knows it’s her home now too. It feels strange, knowing that she is not returning to her small apartment above the library. Her things were all moved to the big pink ( _salmon_ , he tells her) house over the last week. Her old apartment now belongs to her assistant. She can’t move back even if she wants to.

And she’s not sure _what_ she wants.

He shows her around the house, shows her the library he keeps tucked away in one large room on the second floor. She knows she’ll spend plenty of time there, can well imagine coming home from _her_ library to curl up in the room surrounded by more books. He smiles almost indulgently as she meanders around the room glancing at titles.

Finally he leads her out and back down to the dining room. Dinner is a quiet affair. He’s had someone prepare something ahead of time and Belle is most relieved. She’s no cook and she’s glad he doesn’t want her to take care of it. He assures her, over glasses of wine, that he enjoys cooking and if she has no culinary skills, he’s glad to cook for the both of them.

She’s gone from ramen noodles to fancy dinners. She still feels shocked and a bit unnerved at the direction her life has taken in these last few weeks.

When dinner is over he insists she leave the dishes. He wags a finger at her and tells her that she is not his maid and he has someone who will come to take care of such things. She insists on at least putting the plates and silverware in the dishwasher. She’s used to taking care of herself. Having someone do it _for_ her is going to take a lot of getting used to.

It’s early yet, but the day has been long and he escorts her up the stairs. Belle finds herself freezing up slightly as they get near to his room. She’s married. He has rights, she knows this. When they arrive at the door he turns to her and she can see how hard his fingers grip the cane by the whiteness of his knuckles.

“I…” And he pauses. She’s never seen him at a loss for words but it seems he has to gather some courage to speak. “I expect nothing from you.”

She nods and she’s not sure if she feels relief or a bit of sadness in that moment. He marries her, but does not expect any intimacy.

“But I would ask something of you?” His voice sounds hesitant. She bites her lip and nods again. “Please…just…will you share the bed with me? I would like to hold you… _just_ hold you. Please.”

She tries to pretend she doesn’t hear the desperate note in his voice as she finds herself agreeing to his strange proposition. She has no doubt he will stay true to his word, that he will not do more than that unless she asks for it.

He lets her have the bathroom off the master bedroom and retreats to one further down the hall. Belle sorts through her clothes, finding the most innocent nightwear she can. The pants are a soft grey fleece and she opts for a light short-sleeved top, knowing that she may get overly warm sharing a bed with someone else.

She can’t remember the last time she had. There was the college boyfriend but that only lasted for a short while. Since then she has been too wrapped up in her own world. She’s never dated and so her bed is always her own.  It will feel strange sharing her space with someone else.

She gets ready for bed quickly and by the time she gets out, Mr. Gold is back… _Gold_ he tells her to call him. She still doesn’t know his first name. It must be on the marriage certificate, but she hasn’t seen it. So Gold it is. A strange thing to call her husband. She wonders what his first name must be and decides she can deal with just calling him Gold. She did grow up watching MacGyver after all, and only found out his name in the last season of the show. She thinks that perhaps Mr. Gold’s first name is something he is equally not fond of.

He’s dressed in a pair of dark blue pajamas and she tries not to grin. He’s always so put together in his fancy suits that seeing him dressed down in a pair of comfortable pajamas, bare toes peeping out from the slightly too long pants, is somewhat humorous. She turns from him without saying anything. He seems too self-conscious, smoothing down the material almost as if it’s a nervous twitch.

The bed has already been turned back and she crawls in. He has thick blankets on the bed and she burrows beneath them, waiting for her new husband to crawl into bed with her.

He does so a moment later, his slight form only making the bed dip a little. She feels him close behind her as he pushes across the bed toward her. With a slight sigh, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her up against him. She doesn’t say anything as she feels the slight tremor in his body, the way his hand shakes slightly as he spreads it out over her stomach, the dampness at the nape of her neck.

She realizes why he wants this marriage and it was for _this_. She’s the only one in town not scared of him, the only one to give him a smile when he walks into the library or Granny’s Diner. He’s lonely and if the tears that are being absorbed into her hair are any indication, he’s desperately so.

Reaching out her hand, she finds his arm and squeezes lightly. It’s all she really needs to do there in the dark, words not necessary at that moment.

_I understand. I hear you. I know_.

She’s lonely too, has been a long time. Perhaps they can ease each other’s loneliness a bit.

* * *

At the end of April she asks for May’s ring and he presents it to her at dinner one night. She smiles brightly as she tucks it into the pocket of the sweater she’s wearing. He asks if she’s going to put it on and she says _tomorrow_. He doesn’t understand. She knows she cannot make him understand. How does one tell the man you married, the man who weeps into your hair every night just for being allowed to hold you, that without those rings you die?

Could he even understand?

Magic has no place in this world. Belle knows this as much as anyone. But she also knows the legend, the stories, has felt the reality of removing a ring, and so she keeps this to herself.

Each night they sleep together, curled up close. His body no longer trembles when he wraps his arm around her, but she still feels the wetness and sometimes when she awakens in the middle of the night and needs to visit the restroom, he pulls her close and murmurs words of fear and love into the nape of her neck. She never tells him of this, never tells her she knows his secret. And so those nights she holds him tight and then gently wakes him up so that she can sneak out to the bathroom.

Once morning comes, he is distant. He’s polite. He never argues with her. They talk about inconsequential nothings. She’s sure if he had his way, they would hardly ever speak. He makes dinner. She compliments him on his skills and tries to talk about the books she’s read.

He retreats to his study almost as soon as the meal is over, allowing Belle to retreat to her library. In the morning, the dishes are always done and the place set to rights. It almost seems as if it happens by magic, for she’s sure he doesn’t leave the bed during their strange nighttime ritual.

July’s ring he hands her without any ceremony. It’s not wrapped up in a box. There’s no presentation to it. He simply hands it to her. “I assume you’ll want this.” His words are cold, perhaps the coldest she’s heard out of him yet. His eyes that were once warm seem darker somehow, barren. The pleasant feelings between them seem to be slowly snuffing out. Belle doesn’t know how to stop it.

By the time September rolls around, they are barely speaking. Belle is rarely one to give up, but the small talk is too much for her. He shows no interest in hearing about her books, her day at the library, the kids who come in. He simply eats quietly and departs, holing himself up in his study until it’s time for bed.

They still have their nighttime ritual and it’s the only time she feels close to him. He holds her tightly and in those moments she imagines they have a normal marriage, where he loves her and she loves him, where the closeness of their nights is just a prelude to further intimacies. She thinks about it sometimes, about turning over in the bed to face him, about running her fingers through his hair. She remembers the two kisses they’ve shared, the one in the pawn shop that sealed their deal and the one at their wedding, and she remembers enjoying them.

She wonders if he did.

He seemed too then. He hasn’t attempted anything since then.

Sometimes she thinks he’ll eventually retreat to his side of the bed and leave her lying cold and alone on her side. But he hasn’t. Not yet at least. But she knows the day will come someday soon. They’ve never been close, but he’s pulling even further away from her as time goes on.

It makes her sad, but she doesn’t really know what to do about it.

Their Christmas that year is quiet and sad. He gives her January’s ring as a Christmas present. She has little money that isn’t his, but manages to make him a nice meal. It’s her first Christmas without her father and she feels immeasurably sad. Even knowing that, her husband still barely speaks more than two words to her.

She feels so much of her life slipping away, little by little. She has her library and she tries to keep up the façade there, tries to keep the smile on her face. It’s been nearly 10 months since her father passed on and she’s never felt so alone, even when held in the arms of the man she calls husband.

The end of January comes and she realizes there are no more rings to give. He stops her, there on the last day, before they go upstairs.

“Isn’t there something you’re forgetting, dearie?” She hates being _dearie_. It’s what he calls those who come into his shop and annoy him. It’s what he calls the Mayor when she stops him on the street. She’s his _wife_. She should be closer than his distance-increasing _dearie_.

But she’s not.

She looks around her. The leftovers were put away, the dishes on the table waiting for whomever swept in every night to clean. She can see nothing that she might be forgetting. “No?”

“It’s the last day of January. Surely you want another fancy piece of jewelry? Perhaps earrings this time? A necklace to complement the rings I’ve given you?” He moves closer to her and there’s a dangerous edge to his voice. “How else might you take advantage of my good graces and wealth?”

Belle shakes her head. “What?”

“Oh my dear, don’t play coy with me.” One of his hands moves up and the finger traces lightly down the side of her face. “There’s only one reason a pretty young thing like you would marry an old monster like me.”

Belle’s eyes widen. “You think I married you for your money?” The words come tumbling out and she wishes she didn’t realize that it made sense.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t for my good looks. Definitely not for my charm. If I remember right, you agreed to marry me in exchange for a diamond ring.” The last words are said on a sneer and she cringes slightly.

“But…” She doesn’t know what to say.

“Well, my dear, it seems you’re plumb out of rings, so I’m afraid you’re either going to have to settle for something else or come up wanting this time around.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and produces a small box. Flipping the lid open so that Belle can see the diamond earrings inside, he leans forward. “I wonder what you’d trade for _these_.”

The look he gives her is suggestive and if she hadn’t recently watched him drink just one small glass of wine, she’d swear he was drunk. This is out of character for what she knows of the quiet pawnbroker who became her husband. There is a darkness in his eyes, a coldness that had been growing but did not _burn_ , not like it does now.

She tries to go past him up the stairs but he doesn’t let her, his arms keeping her unbalanced against the wall, one foot on the first step, the other on the floor. She puts her hands on his chest and shoves, hard. He stumbles back and she uses that moment to begin her retreat upstairs. There’s a guest room. She can sleep there tonight.

He catches her wrist before she gets too far away from him and pulls her back. She nearly loses her balance as she collides with him, only keeping herself upright by gripping the bannister.

“And just where do you think you’re going, dearie?” He sounds dangerous. He’s never sounded dangerous.

She turns her head, tries to meet his eyes from the awkward angle. “To bed. _Alone_.”

“No,” he says and whips her around so suddenly that she cannot stop him. As soon as she’s facing him, his hands leave her shoulders and cup her face. He’s not gentle, nor is he rough with her. He simply pulls her close and his lips crash down on hers.

Her hands come up to tangle in his hair and she lets out a small moan deep in the back of her throat that causes him to tilt his head slightly and deepen the kiss. Trapped in the awkward position against the bannister she barely even notices the pain as it digs into her back. His tongue touches the seam of her lips and she opens for him. There is nothing chaste about this kiss, not like their last ones. It’s raw and fierce, a little wild.

He releases her suddenly and she realizes they’re both breathing heavily, hair mussed. “Upstairs,” he growls at her and she nods. She can’t manage to get another word out.

* * *

Belle wakes and for a moment she’s disoriented. She’s slept in this bed every night for nearly a year now, but it’s _different_. And then she remembers their frantic stumbling up the stairs and why she’s curled up with Gold, sans clothes. She’d blush, but he _is_ her husband.

She still can’t figure out how they went from such anger and misunderstanding to _this_ , but she’s not going to complain too loudly. Stretching, she tries to pull away from him to sneak off to the bathroom, but he won’t let her. He murmurs something in his sleep and pulls her tighter against him.

“Gold…I need to…”

He finally lets her get up but when she returns he pulls her right back into the embrace. It feels strange, having him holding her, feeling every inch of his body against hers. Strange, but not unpleasant. He shifts a little, his breathing changes slightly, and she knows he’s awake.

“Did you really think I married you for your wealth?” She lets the words fall quietly into the silence.

“Well…”

“I didn’t.” The words are spoken firmly.

“Then?” He sounds curious, which is a good sight better than the anger from the night before.

“Do you promise not to laugh?” How does she tell him? What does she even say? _It’s magic, Gold. Magic…_ It sounds so crazy. It _is_ crazy. He doesn’t respond so she rolls, faces him from almost too close. “Do you promise?” She meets his eyes and she hopes he can see the sincerity there.

Slowly, he nods.

“The rings…they’re special.” In a rush of words, before she can take them back, she tells him about the rings’ history, about how she dies if she takes that month’s ring off her finger. When she’s through, she finally looks up and meets his eyes. There’s a look there, a bit of shock, but also something she didn’t expect. An understanding, belief. She expects him to laugh. But he’s not.

He’s not doing _anything_. For a time, he’s silent and then finally his eyes drift shut. He seems to almost be in some pain before he manages to speak. “Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle’s eyebrows draw low over her eyes. “What?”

“My name.”

“Your name is…”

“Yes.”

“Well that explains why you didn’t want me to know.” She tries not to smile.

“In another world, I had some experience with magical items.” It seems he’s going to shock her multiple times that night.

“You’re named after a fairytale character _and_ you understand magic?” It would be laughable if he didn’t seem so sincere.

“I _am_ the fairytale character.” The words are muttered under his breath but she hears them nonetheless. “Come dear, let’s take a look at those rings of yours.” He presses a quick kiss to her temple and then is crawling out of bed and hobbling his way to the dresser to find a pair of his dark blue silk pajamas. Self-conscious, Belle waits until he has turned his back and then rises quickly, holding her discarded clothes in front of her.

She’s standing there awkwardly when he turns to look back at her, slight grin on his face. She senses he feels as awkward as she does. “My clothes,” she mutters. He nods and opens a drawer, tosses a comfortable pair of pajamas her way and quickly retreats, turning his back to her.

He’s giving her some space, something she desperately needs after the events of last night. She still hasn’t been able to figure out how they went from distance and hate to _this_ so quickly.

She dresses quickly and follows his unsteady gait down the steps. He leads her to another door, one she hasn’t really noticed, and takes her deep into the basement. Down there is a table strewn with various bottles, _potions_ he calls them. In one corner sits a spinning wheel, a basketful of gold at the bottom. She stops, stares. She feels something inside her head shift slightly at the sight of it, remembers the sound it makes. _It helps me forget_ …She doesn’t know where the words come from but she can hear them inside her head, more of a memory than a figment of her imagination.

She reaches up and holds her head in her hands for a moment, only becoming aware of Gold nearby, watching her with concerned eyes. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes.” She brushes her hands down the soft fleece of her sweatshirt. “Yes I think so.”

He beckons her closer and as she steps into the light near the table, he reaches out and gently takes her hand.

“Don’t remove it.” She feels panic well up inside her. If he removes the ring…

“Of course not.” He places her hand on the table and tells her to keep it there, don’t move. He quickly selects one of the bottles from nearby. She doesn’t know how he knows which one to select. The arrangement is so haphazard. But he’s sure as he picks it up and swirls the nearly translucent blue liquid around. Then without any ceremony, he pours half the contents of the bottle across her hand.

It stings slightly for a moment, but he holds her wrist in place. When the ring starts to glow with a strange blue tinge, her eyes widen and meet his.

“Magic,” he murmurs.

“So it’s true then?”

“It is.”

“And so you…”

“Yes.” He sighs. “It seems there is much to discuss. Come dear.” He stops at the bottom of the stairs and waves her ahead of him as he so often does. He doesn’t like to precede her up stairs and she sometimes wonders if he doesn’t wish for anyone to see the halting progress he makes as he pulls himself rather unsteadily up the stairs. One hand rests on the bannister, the other grips his gold-handled cane tightly.

She runs her hand across the table as she heads toward the exit and stops as her hand comes into contact with something. Gold is turned away from her as she finds it, picks it up, and examines it. That strange feeling comes over her again and this time it’s stronger. Her finger runs across the chipped edge of the cup. _It’s just a cup_. The sound of the voice is strong and she realizes she’s heard it before.

She looks to Gold.

No, not Gold. _Rumplestiltskin_.

And then she knows. She _knows_. Who she is. Who he is. She’s not Belle French, town librarian. She’s Belle of the Marchlands, caretaker of the Dark One.

“Rumplestiltskin.” It’s the first time she’s said his name in what feels like forever, her mouth feeling rusty as she forms the syllables of a word she never thought she’d hear again.

He freezes, won’t quite turn back toward her. She reaches out, puts a gentle hand on his arm. He doesn’t look like her Rumplestiltskin, not really at least. He’s still there in the shape of his body, the wide eyes, the sneer that alternates with quiet contemplation. But he’s in human trappings, out of place in this world.

_She_ is out of place in this world.

Finally he meets her eyes and she reaches up to cup his face, watches as his eyes widen suddenly. “You’re you,” he whispers.

“I’m me.” She smiles. “And you’re right. It does seem we have much to discuss.”

He puts a hand over hers. “The rings were no doubt Regina’s doing.” She remembers the Queen now, how she took her from the road before she could return to Rumplestiltskin. She could well imagine her attempting to torment her greatest rival by finding a strange magical way to end her life. Some way that the Mr. Gold of this world wouldn’t understand or be able to counter, so that when he finally woke up, knew who he was, it would hurt all the more.

“You can fix this?” She knows he can. He’s _Rumplestiltskin_.

He nods and turns to head up the stairs, this time ahead of her. He reaches back a hand and Belle entwines her fingers with his. He’ll solve it, make sure she’s safe. He’ll protect her. And then they’ll have the rest of their lives to look forward to.


End file.
